When My Hemoglobin Rusts

I don't know if I love the canopy of God's umbrella

More than the vanity of metropolis, that one day

Would fall when my haemoglobin rusts.

Breathing soil crystallises with my delicate touch,

Mustard pods mature with my adrenaline rush.

I know there's a spark in me but is it burning my

Thoughts into ashes or flaring my hopes to fight

The world when my haemoglobin rusts.

Everyone admires moon's borrowed charm that

Breaks lucid dreams and hides the craters.

These beautiful ghosts who hide in cracked walls

And their tears stain the marble floor would

Disappear in memories when my haemoglobin rusts.

Though my eyes reflect their spirited days, my feet

Falter when I try to walk on their domains.

Does the earth follow me to my room or is it

The smoke gifted by the steel livestock that

Would depurate when my haemoglobin rusts.

My heart sinks in the marsh of fervent believes,

Can the strings of copper protect me?

Are the scars on my body a souvenir of my forefathers'

Sacrifices or just cicatrix of my mistakes that

Would stay even after my haemoglobin rusts.

Would I be one of those great men,

Or a mere knot in the tangled threads?